


Guns and Roses

by yerawizardlani



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, Demons, F/M, Rape Aftermath, Slow Burn, follows the episodes pretty closely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerawizardlani/pseuds/yerawizardlani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Singer has known the Winchester brothers ever since she was twelve years-old and sent to live with her Uncle Bobby. She went with Sam to Stanford when she was eighteen, abandoning the hunter lifestyle. Now Dean Winchester is at her apartment door to ask for help finding the man that saved her life ten years ago and Rose is getting dragged back into life on the road whether she likes it or not.</p><p>ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who the f*&% is at my door at...FOUR IN THE MORNING???

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> So I started the story a couple of years ago and I just now got back to it. It's going to follow the show episode by episode, but I'm planning on changing up a few things as I go so you guys don't get bored. The character Rose is one of my own creation. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Warning: This story is going to eventually deal with the aftermath of rape, so if that is a trigger for you then it might not be a good idea to read this story. I will, of course, post warnings on any chapters that I think might trigger someone, so you are welcome to just skip those chapters if you like. I promise I won't post anything graphic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. However, I do own Rose Singer.
> 
> PLEASE READ: Okay so it's been a while since I posted anything for this story and there's a reason for that I promise. Life kind of got sucky for a while there, and I'm only just now getting to a place where I feel like writing again. I promise I haven't given up on this story, but I don't want to post any more of it until I've gotten myself to a good stopping point. That way you guys won't have to worry about an inconsistent posting schedule. Again, sorry for the hiatus, but I promise I'll come back.

**March 15th, 1995**

**12 Years Old**

I woke up with a start, and looked around my room. Everything was in place. Moonlight streamed through the gauzy curtains that my mom had put up when I was eight and asking for a princess themed room. Mom certainly delivered on that front. My room looked like something out of a fairytale: complete with pale pink walls and white crown molding. The furniture was ornate white wrought iron with gold accents and the entire room was stuffed with every pink and ridiculous looking piece of frill you could imagine. On one wall, Dad had hired a painter to paint a mural of Rapunzel in her tower looking over a valley. Her long golden hair flowed out of the window and blew in the imaginary breeze, and Rapunzel gazed longingly at the setting sun. I had almost completely managed to cover this mural up with posters. They weren't childish like the rest of the room. I would be 12 years old when the sun rose, and this room was for babies.

I shivered under the thick blankets on my bed and frowned. Why was it so cold? It was then that I noticed the window. I frowned. I could've sworn I'd shut it before I went to bed. I mean, it was early March in Chattanooga; now wasn't the time of year when people left their windows open. It was still too cold out most days. Right now it was snowing outside, which I thought was ridiculous. We'd never had a winter last this long in Chattanooga, but my parents and I lived high up on Signal Mountain, and it was pretty cold this far up, even into May, so I guess it shouldn't have been that big of a surprise.

I got up and closed the window and turned back toward my bed. The glowing green numbers on my alarm clock told me that it was almost 2:00 in the morning. I walked back to bed. That's when I saw it. I hadn't noticed it before because of the shadows in the room, but there, in my room, was a large cloud of black smoke, and it was heading straight for me. I opened my mouth to scream just as the black smoke began to close in. The world went black.

* * *

**10 years later…**

I fell out of sleep with a shout, landing hard on my ass as I tumbled off the couch. It took me a moment to realize that the pounding I heard didn't actually belong to my heart. I reached for the knife I kept hidden in my boot, adrenaline still pouring through my system from the nightmare. The sky outside was too dark for it to be anywhere near a decent hour, and a quick glance at the clock hanging over my dining table confirmed that it was too early for anyone respectable to be paying me a visit. I rolled into a crouch, alert and listening for signs of an ambush. The pounding at my door continued. A distant part of me noted that Mrs. Leavitt, the older woman who lived in the apartment next door to me, was going to have words for me tomorrow about the lack of propriety in my 'gentlemen callers' as she always referred to them, not that I had many of those.

"Rose!" A familiar voice hollered, muffled through the thick oak door. "Rose let me in!" I straightened from my hunter's crouch and huffed, relaxing the grip on my knife slightly.

"Sam Winchester!" I snapped, "Do you have any idea what time it is?" The image of Sam's apologetic grimace flashed through my mind. He knew my opinion on early wake-up calls.

"Rose, I know it's late, but please just let me in," he called. I rolled my eyes as I returned the knife to its sheath and made my way toward the bedroom.

"It's not late, Sam," I tossed out over my shoulder, "It's early. Come back when the sun is actually out! I'm going back to bed." The pounding on my door halted and I listened for the sound of retreating footsteps. None. Just silence.

"Rosie," a different voice called through the door, "Let us in." I froze, my heart kicking back into a double beat as recognition sank in. I fumbled once more for my knife as I hopped one-legged toward the door. My fingers caught on the multiple locks in my haste and I heard a familiar chuckle from the other side as I willed my hands to stop shaking. The door flung open and there they were.

My mind barely registered Sam standing awkwardly in his familiar worn t-shirt and holey jeans. My focus lay on his brother leaning against the doorjamb, his bottle green eyes glinting wickedly in the glow from my apartment and looking exactly as I remembered. His father's old leather jacket? Check. Military styled haircut? Check. Annoying smirk? Double check.

I slammed the door right in his smug face and leaned my forehead on the cool wood, forcing myself to take deep breaths. This was not happening. Dean Winchester had been a distant thought in my mind for the past four years. He could not be standing outside on my doorstep right now at—I glanced at the clock once more—4:15 in the morning. I tightened my grip on the knife in my hand, taking comfort in its cold steel. I briefly imagined throwing the knife at Dean's face, but nixed the idea. Sam wouldn't forgive me for murdering his older brother, even if it was  _completely_  justified.

"Aww come on Rosie," Dean needled from the other side of the door, "Don't be like that." His voice, if anything, had gotten deeper since the last time I'd heard it, growing from a boy's voice to a man's.

"Sam, what is he doing here?" I growled, "Am I having another nightmare?"

"Damn, Rosie," Dean hissed, "No need to be so harsh."

"Go to hell!" I snapped, banging my fist against the door for emphasis.

"Look, Rose, I can explain," Sam pleaded, "Just let us in. Please?" Goddamn Sam Winchester and his fucking reasonable voice. I hated it when he used it against me.

"What is he doing here?" I growled, tightening my knuckles on the lock.

"He needs our help," Sam explained vaguely. My mind flashed to multiple times when Dean had explicitly told me that he did  _not_  need our help and wondered what could possibly have him so desperate for it now.

"Where's John?" I asked, realizing that there was one Winchester man not in this picture. The silence outside my door made my throat close up in panic.

"Sam," my voice strangled, "Where. Is. Your. Father?" More silence.

"He's missing," Dean answered gravely. I closed my eyes and waited for the stinging to recede. With a shaky sigh, I opened the door.

"Come in," I grumbled begrudgingly, stepping aside to allow the two brothers past. Sam smiled wanly down at me as he entered, but Dean merely eyed the knife in my right hand.

"Planning on stabbing something with that?" he questioned, lifting one eyebrow.

"Don't tempt me," I snarled. Dean chuckled. I watched him warily as he surveyed my apartment, green eyes cold like glass.

"Nice pad," he observed. I shrugged. I'd come into my inheritance on my 21st birthday and decided to make the most of it. My apartment was much nicer than any college student's apartment had the right to be. It was made up of tall ceilings, crown molding, and hardwood floors, decorated with anything I'd deemed interesting, including a large Persian rug and the plush blue couch that I'd been sleeping on prior to this unexpected visit. Nothing in the apartment matched: I loved every inch of it. Dean nudged one of the many stacks of books with his boot. I growled a warning to him and he winked at me unapologetically.

"Why are you here, Dean?" I demanded. He smirked, his eyes flat.

"I told you," he said, "Dad's missing."

"I heard that," I snapped, "I meant why are you  _here?_  You made it very clear you didn't want anything to do with me last time I saw you." Dean frowned as he examined the picture hanging on the wall of me, Sam, and Jess hiking in the Rockies over spring break last year. He turned away from the photo and plopped down on my couch.

"Believe me princess, if it was up to me I wouldn't be here," he sneered, propping his feet up on my coffee table. "Unfortunately, I needed my brother, and Sammy here insisted that you and him are a package deal. So here we are." He threw his hands up in a 'what can you do?' manner, frowning at Sam as he did so. I felt a glow of appreciation for Sam's loyalty. He'd stood up for me against his big brother. Again. My eyes narrowed in on Dean's muddy boots.

"Feet. Off the coffee table. Now," I glowered down at Dean as I hissed the words. My eye twitched at the thought about all of the mud Dean trekked around in on a day to day basis. Dean smiled beatifically at me.

"Make me," he challenged.

"Dean…" Before Sam could finish warning his brother, I swiftly straddled Dean, pressing my knife against his throat.

"Remove your feet from my coffee table now," I whispered, "Or I'll do it for you." Dean's eyes widened in surprise at my sudden proximity. We hadn't been this close in almost four years, and I knew he hadn't expected me to be the one to bridge the gap. A smile inched its way onto his face, too smug for my liking.

"You won't hurt me," He said confidently. I raised an eyebrow as I pressed the blade further into his throat, nicking the skin. A drop of blood trickled down his neck and Dean hissed.

"Jesus psycho," he muttered, "Calm down. I'll behave." He lowered his feet and I sat back triumphantly, glowing at my victory. Before I got a chance to gloat I found myself thrown against the couch with a huff. I felt the air explode out of me as I struggled to free myself from Dean's grip. He grinned smugly from his current position on top of me.

"Still letting your guard down, Rosie," he cooed, "We'll have to work on that." I kneed him in the groin and he rolled off of me with a moan. I stood and brushed some lint off of my jeans with a sniff. Sam hid his laughter behind a hand. I glared.

"So glad we amuse you," I snapped lightly, keeping most of the venom out of my voice. Sam smiled fondly at me. I moved closer and burrowed my face into his chest. He laid a hand on my head and smoothed my rumpled curls down affectionately.

"You okay?" he whispered, concerned. I nodded, tilting my head up so he could see my face.

"You?" I mouthed back. He shrugged, the smile fading from his face. I felt a twinge of guilt at reminding him of the situation. I could only imagine how he must be feeling right about now.

Dean finally recovered from my knee, standing with a glare in my direction.

"Bitch," he spat.

"Dick," I snapped back without hesitation, "Now explain why you're here." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I told you," he snarled impatiently, "I need Sam to come with me to find Dad."

"Dean, I told you before, I can't just drop everything and go with you on a hunting trip," Sam protested, "I have a life here and hunting is not a part of it."

"You're not hearing me Sammy," Dean growled, "Dad's missing." I felt Sam tense at the nickname and I grabbed his hand in mine, rubbing soothing circles into his palm with my thumb. I watched Sam unclench his jaw as he prepared for a rebuttal. I could see him going into what Jess termed his "sexy lawyer mode."

"Dad's always missing," Sam argued, "He goes days, sometimes weeks without making contact. He always comes back, and he's always  _fine_." Dean shook his head.

"Never for this long," Dean said, "I can feel it, Sam. Something's wrong." I felt my heart stutter at the thought of something happening to John. He wasn't my father, but he'd always been there for me, and in a way, he was family. I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to him.

"Did you try calling Uncle Bobby?" I asked. Dean glared at me.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" he demanded, "Of course I have! Bobby hasn't heard anything from Dad. And then I got this voice message from him the other day. Listen."

Dean whipped out his cell phone and pressed a button. John's crackling voice filled the room.

"Dean—bzzz—something is starting to happen—phsssh—I think it's serious—tsst—I need to try and figure out—zzt—what's going on. Fsssh—be very careful Dean—bzzzz—we're all in danger." The voice message faded out with a click but it left raw fear gnawing at my belly. Maybe Dean was onto something. I met Sam's gaze, my own worry reflected back in his eyes.

"So, will you help me?" Dean asked, his eyes fixed on Sam. Sam turned to me for guidance. I nodded. My stomach was already twisting nervously at the thought of teaming up with Dean to search for John, but if Dean was right, and I had a bad feeling that he was, then John needed our help. Sam turned back to Dean.

"We'll help," he agreed, "But we have to be back by Monday morning." Dean frowned. Clearly that wasn't the answer he'd hoped for.

"What's Monday morning?" he asked.

"I've got an interview," Sam explained. Dean crossed his arms, fixing his cool gaze on Sam.

"What, a job interview?" he scoffed, "Skip it." I stepped forward to smack Dean's shoulder.

"It's not a job interview," I corrected the idiot, smiling with satisfaction as he rubbed his shoulder surreptitiously. "It's a law school interview, and it's Sam's entire future on a plate." Dean raised both brows as he turned to look at Sam.

"Law school, huh?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. Dean's eyes turned the color of the forest at night as he regarded the both of us carefully.

"Alright then," he nodded, conceding, "Monday morning it is. Pack your stuff."

"I'll meet you guys at Sam's place," I said, already cataloging everything I would need for this trip in my mind. Beneath my worry for John was a deeper thrill of excitement. It had been too long since I'd been on a hunt. My fingers were itching for something to fight.

"You're not coming with us," Dean interrupted my thoughts. I stopped, staring him down as I placed my hands on my hips.

"And why not?" I demanded giving him a look that I knew from experience made both brothers extremely nervous.

"Because we don't need you," Dean explained with a shrug, "You'll just slow us down."

"Like hell," I spat, "I'm just as good a hunter as you are and you are not blocking me out of this because you decided to be a misogynistic asshole."

"Big words college girl," Dean quipped, "But he's our father, so I think it's best if Sam and I handle this one on our own." The world went red, and when the haze dimmed slightly Dean was holding his jaw and my hand hurt like a bitch.

"Listen, dickhead!" I snarled, "He may not be related to me by blood, but he is every bit as much my family as he is yours so don't you  _dare_  try to play that card on me. I'm coming whether you like it or not."

"There's no way in hell I am letting you inside my car with us," Dean said, flexing his jaw gingerly to assess the damage and looking at me with a glint of something in his eyes. "I can't believe you just  _punched_ me!"

"Please," I scoffed, "you totally deserved it." Dean's eyes narrowed.

"You're still not getting inside the Impala," his smirk was returning. He thought he had the upper hand. I smiled sweetly at him.

"That's alright, Baby," I cooed, using my best southern belle voice, "I'll just take the Harley." Dean opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. I could tell that I had won.

"Whatever," Dean muttered, "just make sure you don't slow us down." I smiled less sweetly.

"Don't worry," I told him, locking eyes, "I won't." Then I spun on my heel and exited toward my bedroom, eager to pack. I flexed my hand as I went. Nothing broken. Good. The front door slammed and I rolled my eyes. Dean always liked to make an exit.

" _Such_  a drama queen," I muttered. I knelt down, reaching under my bed to drag my worn canvas bag out, tossing it onto my comforter and turning to begin rummaging through my drawers. A knock on my bedroom door alerted me to the fact that Sam had stayed behind. I glanced up to see him watching me with sympathy.

"You okay?" he asked. My smile felt false even to me.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Why wouldn't I be?" Sam shook his head as he crossed over to where I stood and collapsed on my bed.

"Well you and my brother do have a rather…violent history to say the least," he pointed out hesitantly, "and neither of you seemed particularly thrilled to see the other." I shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Your brother's a dick," I told him as I folded a pair of jeans and stuffed them hurriedly into my bag. "This isn't exactly news." Sam laughed.

"True," he granted, "But are you sure you'll be okay spending an entire weekend with him? You can always stay here and look after Jess for me." I glared at him and bumped his shoulder, knocking him over on the bed.

"I can't let you boys have all the fun," I teased, "Besides, Jess is a big girl. She can handle herself without us for one weekend." Sam looked unconvinced. I frowned slightly, noticing the flash of worry in his eyes.

"Hey," I called, trying to bring him back from his thoughts, "Is something up with you and Jess?"

"What?" Sam asked, confused, "No. No, of course not." He assured me quickly, his eyes still distant. "I had a nightmare last night and it's got me on edge. That's all."

"Oh," I said, looking down at my fingernails, which were gnawed short. I could understand nightmares.

"Do...do you want to talk about it?" I asked awkwardly. Sam swallowed nervously, considering my offer, before shaking his head no. I nodded. I could respect his privacy, but I made a note to keep a closer eye on him during our trip in case his nightmares got to be too much.

"I should go pack and explain things to Jess," Sam said, getting up off of the bed with a groan. I returned to the task at hand, my body sinking back into the familiar rhythm of packing with ease.

"Are you going to tell her the truth?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. I was broaching a sensitive topic, Even though I disagreed with his decision to keep Jess in the dark, I had, thus far, respected his wishes, keeping silent these past few years.

"No," Sam shook his head, "Jess doesn't need to know the details. And anyway, it would take way too long to explain everything to her." I nodded, biting my lip. Pushing him would only lead to an argument, and I didn't need both Winchester brothers pissed at me for this trip.

"What  _will_  you tell her?" I asked instead. If we were both going on this hunt then I needed to be able to keep my story straight to Jess. Sam shrugged.

"I'll tell her we're all going up to the cabin to hunt down my Dad and bring him back to civilization," he explained, "and that we'll come home once we're done." I nodded, meeting Sam's eyes to let him know I understood. He smiled briefly at me before leaving. I could see the tension in his shoulders as he walked away. Sam didn't know how to deal with this sudden family reunion anymore than I did.

I finished packing a few minutes later and immediately rushed to the bathroom. I had fallen asleep in my clothes earlier that night, but I wasn't particularly keen on the idea of biking cross-country without something a little warmer than my ratty Stanford sweatshirt. I switched it out for a long-sleeved black thermal and my leather jacket. I tugged on some thick woolen socks that Jess had given me for Christmas one year when she'd gone through her knitting phase, and laced up my riding boots, tucking my knife back into its sheath as I did so. I hid another at the small of my back for good measure. I quickly wrapped a blue cashmere scarf that Uncle Bobby had sent me for my birthday last year around my neck and donned my biker gloves. Finally I pulled my thick russet curls back into a ponytail. I hated having my hair loose while driving. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I exited the bathroom and crinkled my nose. I turned my eyes away quickly before I could get caught in a staring match with my reflection.

I grabbed my bags as I rushed out the door. I just finished with the locks when I caught a glimpse of my neighbor peaking out from behind her door. I jumped.

"Mrs. Leavitt," I called in greeting. The older woman smiled kindly at me, but her old eyes were clouded with worry.

"Is everything alright dearie?" she asked, "I heard an awful racket, and I saw that Sam boy and some other man hanging around. Is he another friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," I muttered to myself.

"Well everything's alright though, isn't it?" Mrs. Leavitt prodded again, "It seems a strange hour to be making a trip." I watched as she turned her eyes to the bags in my hand. I smiled reassuringly.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Leavitt," I lied, "There's just been a minor family crisis that I have to attend to. I'll be back in a couple of days." Her eyes widened.

"Oh dear," she murmured, "Well I do hope everything's alright, love. Look after yourself. The roads aren't safe this time of night." I smiled gratefully at her. Mrs. Leavitt might have been a busybody, but it felt nice to have someone looking after me. It felt almost like having a grandmother.

"Thanks Mrs. Leavitt," I said before turning toward the stairs. I took them two at a time and jogged lightly toward my bike, which was waiting patiently for me like an old friend. When I had come into my inheritance the previous year I had immediately gone to the nearest Harley-Davidson dealership and bought the nicest bike I could find. I didn't know anything about motorcycles, but I'd always wanted one as a kid, and Harley had been my birthday gift to myself. She was shiny and sleek and her black coat made it easy to fade into the night. I loaded my things into the saddlebags and quickly swung one leg over the bike. I slipped my helmet on and twisted the key in the ignition, sending the bike roaring to life. I liked the feel of the engine beneath me. Riding Harley felt more like riding a panther than a piece of metal. I roared out of the parking lot towards the apartment that Sam shared with his girlfriend and my best friend, Jess.

When I pulled into the complex's parking lot, I saw a familiar black '67 Chevy Impala. Dean was leaning against the car watching me as I pulled up beside him. He eyed my bike with admiration as I dismounted and removed my helmet.

"Is Sam upstairs?" I asked. Dean nodded. I went back to ignoring him, turning towards the stairs to Sam's apartment. I wanted to say goodbye to Jess before leaving, and she'd probably have questions for me.

The couple looked up at me as I walked in. Sam was hastily shoving clothes into a bag as Jess stood by in her favorite Smurf pajamas, a hand on her hip. Her expression brightened slightly when she saw me. I returned her smile with one of my own. Jess was the kind of person you couldn't help but smile back at, even when your night was as shitty as mine was turning out to be.

"Hey Jess," I greeted, "How's it hanging?"

"Did you know about this?" She demanded, gesturing towards Sam's half-packed bag. I nodded.

"Sure did," I answered, "I've got one of my own waiting outside. " Jess raised an eyebrow.

"You're going, too?" she asked, shifting slightly as she fiddled with a strand of golden hair. I shrugged.

"I haven't seen John in a while," I admitted nonchalantly, "And I figured someone needs to tag along and keep Sam out of trouble. Lord knows Dean won't." Sam snorted slightly at that. Jess's mouth drew into a tight line. I laughed at her expression.

"I'm guessing you've already met him," I chuckled. Jess scrunched up her nose slightly.

"He's…interesting," she said finally. Sam and I both burst out laughing at this and Sam kissed Jess sweetly on the nose.

"You can say it," I told her, "He's a dick. I know it. Sam knows it. Hell, even Dean knows it." Jess smiled apologetically at Sam who was smiling softly down at her. The way he looked at her made my own heart ache. My mind flashed to the ring that Sam had stashed somewhere in the apartment where Jess wouldn't find it. I had gone with him to pick it out. A small part of me wondered if Sam would ever have to help some guy pick out a ring for me. I doubted it. I wasn't the marrying type.

Jess left Sam to his packing and followed me out into the living room.

"Are you sure that everything's okay?" Jess whispered, glancing surreptitiously toward the bedroom, "I mean, if there's nothing wrong then couldn't you guys wait till morning?" I shook my head.

"Dean would never allow it," I joked, "He likes to start his journeys in the dead of night." Jess gave me a long look. I sighed.

"Everything's fine Jess," I lied, "John's probably just lost track of the days. My bet is that we'll find him playing poker up at the cabin with a few of his ex-marine buddies. Dean will stop worrying, John and Sam will get into a fight, and Sam and I will return home with nothing changed." Jess looked down at her toes. I'd helped her paint them a bright blue a few weeks ago, but now they were slightly chipped.

"If there's nothing wrong, then don't you think now would be a good time for me to meet him?" she asked. I frowned slightly. I didn't really know how to respond to that. Jess looked nervous.

"Jess," I sighed, "Now's not really a good time. Sam and John are probably gonna get into it the instant we get there and I'm sure that's not how Sam wants you to meet his dad. I think this trip is family-only this time."

" _You're_  going," Jess pointed out. I shrugged.

"I  _am_  family," I explained gently, "Or at least, I used to be. The Winchesters are the only family I've got besides my uncle." Jess nodded.

"It's just that sometimes I feel like Sam trusts you more than he trusts me, you know?" Jess whispered, playing with her hair nervously. My stomach sank. This wasn't the first time that Jess had gotten insecure over my relationship with Sam, but it still hurt every time she brought it up. I hated thinking that I might be a wedge in their relationship.

"Jess, I've told you a hundred times," I reminded her, "Sam's like my brother, and I'm his goofy little sister. That's it. Nothing has ever happened between us and nothing ever will." Jess nodded, still refusing to meet my eye. I set my hand on her shoulder and she finally looked up.

"I'm only coming along because they can't make me stay," I promised her, "Believe me, they'd much rather leave me behind." Jess smiled weakly at my reassurances.

"What about Dean?" she asked. I tensed.

"What about Dean?" I asked warily. Jess wiggled her eyebrows.

"Has anything ever happened between you and  _him_?" she nudged. I laughed a little too high.

"Of course not," I stammered, "Dean's…well he's…he's Dean." Jess smirked.

"That's very specific of you," she observed wryly. I rubbed my neck nervously.

"My relationship with Dean is…complicated," I explained, so  _not_  wanting to discuss it with Jess.

"Complicated how?" she asked.

"Well…we've never really had an easy relationship," I admitted, "In fact, I'm pretty sure he hates me, and sometimes I think I probably hate him, but…he's Dean." I bit my lip, "He's family…sort of. Anyway, we both tolerate each other for Sam's sake."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Jess asked, her brown eyes warm and earnest. I shrugged.

"It's not like he's ever done anything to suggest differently," I muttered, blocking out the rare occasions when Dean  _had_  seemed to care.

"Rose, there's no way that man hates you," Jess declared with absolute certainty. I wrinkled my nose.

"No offense Jess…but how would you know that?" I asked gently, "You've known the guy for what? Fifteen minutes? And you've never even seen us in the room together," I pointed out. Jess smirked.

"The first thing he asked Sam when he broke into our apartment at two in the morning was about you. He wanted to know where you were. He wouldn't ask that if he didn't care." I blinked. Why  _would_ Dean ask that?

"Maybe he was afraid I was about to jump out of the shadows and stab him with a knife," I murmured absentmindedly. Jess threw her hands in the air, rolling her eyes.

"You're impossible," she huffed.

"And  _you_  have an overactive imagination," I told her. "Me and  _Dean?_ That's the craziest thing I think I've ever heard, which is  _really_  saying something." Jess opened her mouth to argue but just then Sam came out with his fully packed bag slung over his shoulder.

"Ready?" he asked. I shrugged.

"As I'll ever be," I answered back. Sam kissed Jess on the mouth, murmuring that he would see her when we got back. Jess smiled up at him wearing the dreamy expression she got every time they kissed. I shook my head, half-disgusted at their heart-warming display of emotion.

"Alright loverboy, let's hit the road," I called. Sam laughed at my tone and pecked Jess one more time on the cheek before turning towards me.

"Okay Rose, let's go meet up with Dean," he said swinging an arm over my shoulders playfully. I shrugged him off, hyper-aware of Jess's gaze. She tried, but I knew she still struggled with Sam and I's relationship.

"You go on ahead," Jess ordered Sam, "I want to talk with Rose alone before y'all leave." Sam raised one eyebrow in question before shrugging and abandoning me to his girlfriend. I glared after him.

"I wish I could figure out how they did that," I muttered to myself. I had been trying for years to mimic the way the Winchester boys arched their brows, but no matter how many times I practiced, I could never lift just one eyebrow. The other always followed.

"You know I see what you're doing, and you don't have to do it," Jess said bluntly. I turned to her with my most innocent expression.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Jess shook her head, smiling.

"You don't have to worry about my jealousy," she assured me, "I learned to accept your relationship with Sam a long time ago." I blinked at Jess, unwilling to give anything away.

"Did you really think I didn't notice the way you won't let Sam touch you whenever I'm around?" Jess demanded.

"I never let anyone touch me," I pointed out. Jess threw her arms around me and grinned knowingly.

"You let  _me_  touch you," she argued. I rolled my eyes, squirming out of her hug good-naturedly.

"That's different," I told her, "You're my best friend." Jess shook her head.

"I'm your best  _girl_  friend," she said, " _Sam_  is your best friend."

"Yeah and he's  _your_  boyfriend," I reminded her.

"I remember," Jess grinned, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. I shook my head, no wanting to think about their sex life.

"Okay, I'm gonna go…" I turned to leave, but Jess pulled me back. Her sharp nails dug into my skin.

"Ouch!" I cried, glaring at her nails. Jess removed her hand sheepishly.

"Sorry," she said. I huffed.

"Can I go?" I asked her. Jess shook her head.

"I need you to do something for me, Rose," Jess said seriously.

"What is it Jess?" I asked, watching as she picked at her fingernails nervously.

"I just…I want to make sure you know that it's okay for you to let people in," Jess said. I frowned.

"I let people in," I protested, "I've got you, and Sam, and my uncle, and John whenever he's not out hunting." Jess shook her head.

"I'm not talking about me or Sam or your uncle," Jess said, "We're your family. It doesn't count."

"What do you want from me Jess?" I whined, "I'm not like you. I can't just open up to people." Jess placed her hand on my arm to calm me.

"I know," she assured me, "But honey, you need to let someone in. Sam and I, we only get parts of you, and the same goes with your uncle I'll bet. You need to let someone see all of you." I rolled my eyes.

"Not this again," I groaned, "I told you that I don't want what you and Sam have. I'm happy alone."

"Rose, if I truly believed you'd be happier alone, I promise I'd drop it," Jess sighed, "but we both know it's not true."

"Really, Jess? Why is this coming out now?" I demanded hotly.

"Because of Dean!" Jess yelled. I froze.

"What do you mean 'because of Dean?'" I asked. "I already told you that there is nothing going on between us."

"Call it a feeling," Jess said, "I don't know how to explain it, but I just feel like there's something between you two."

"Yes, hatred," I agreed wryly.

"Please be serious about this," Jess begged.

"I am serious Jess," I snapped, "There is nothing between Dean Winchester and I except for total antipathy towards the other. I don't see that changing anytime soon." Jess sighed, rubbing her temples as she took a deep breath

"Just promise me you'll keep an open mind?" Jess begged, "Don't let your stubbornness get in the way of your happiness."

"Me? Stubborn?" I joked.

"Promise me, Rose!" Jess insisted. I sighed. There was no getting out of this.

"Fine," I groaned, "I promise."

"Good." Jess nodded in satisfaction. I pouted.

"You know you're a real pain in my ass, right?" I asked. Jess shrugged.

"You love me," she declared primly. I smiled slightly at her confidence.

"Yeah, well, I never said I was sane," I pointed out. Jess opened her mouth in shock.

"Hey!" She cried, shoving me lightly. I laughed. Before I knew it, Jess had wrapped me in one of her famous hugs. No one escaped a hug with Jessica Moore without falling just a little in love with her. I hugged her back tightly.

"Be safe," Jess whispered. Not for the first time, I wondered just how much she'd guessed about what Sam was hiding from her.

"I'll do my best," I assured her gruffly. Jess pulled back and smiled up at me.

"Look after Sam," she ordered, her face stern, but her eyes glittering. I grinned.

"Always," I assured her before turning towards the door. "I'll see you in a few days!" I called over my shoulder. I heard Jess yawn her consent to this and looked back to see her waving sleepily at me. I realized that even though I was wide-awake, it was still only five in the morning. I waved back one last time before going out to join the boys.

"It's about damn time," Dean growled as I walked towards him and Sam.

"Oh, bite me," I snapped. Sam shot me a warning look that I didn't acknowledge.

"Where was John hunting?" I asked Dean instead, getting straight to business. Dean opened the Impala's trunk, lifting the fake bottom to reveal all of his hunting gear. He opened a map of California and pointed to a small town on the map circled with a red marker.

"He was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho." Dean explained, "About a month ago, this guy—they found his car but he'd vanished. Completely MIA."

"So maybe he was kidnapped," Sam suggested skeptically. I glanced over Dean's shoulder to see a stack of newspaper articles.

"It's happened before?" I asked Dean as I picked up the articles and began to rifle through them. They were a list of disappearances going back to the eighties. Dean nodded.

"There was another one in April," he answered, "and another in December '04, '03, '98, '92—10 of them over the past 20 years—all men, all the same 5-mile stretch of road. It started happening more and more so Dad went to go dig around." I studied the articles, searching for a connection between the victims.

"When was that?" I asked absent-mindedly.

"About three weeks go," Dean answered, "Which would've been bad enough had I not gotten Dad's message yesterday."

"Can you play it again?" Sam asked. Dean nodded, and took out the recorder once more and hit play. John's voice broke the empty silence. We all listened, searching for some kind of clue.

"You know there's EVP on that?" Sam pointed out. Dean smiled proudly.

"Not bad, Sammy," he teased, "Kind of like riding a bike isn't it?" Sam glared. Dean shrugged, returning to the matter at hand.

"Alright, I slowed the message down and ran it through a GoldWave," he admitted, "I took out the hiss and this is what I got." Dean pressed a few buttons and a new recording played.

"I can never go home," a woman whispered mournfully. A chill ran down my spine.

"Never go home," I repeated to myself, musing. Something about that phrase was getting me.

"So where were you during this hunt?" Sam asked as I mulled over the recording and Dean's notes.

"I was working my own gig," Dean explained proudly, "This hoodoo thing down in New Orleans."

"Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?" Sam asked incredulously. Dean looked up at Sam, his expression mildly offended.

"I'm twenty-six dude," he pointed out. I felt a twinge of jealousy in my gut. I had never been allowed on my own while hunting. John and Uncle Bobby had always insisted that I have someone else with me. I wasn't even allowed on my own when we had to split up while investigating. Either Dean or Sam had always come with me. I knew it was because I was a girl, but that just pissed me off more.

"Okay, so when did you figure out he was missing?" I asked, breaking free of my bitter thoughts. Sam was the one with family issues, not me.

"Well, we were supposed to meet up at this motel after a couple of days, just to check in, you know?" Dean explained. Sam and I both nodded. We knew all about the rendezvous with Dad to make sure everyone was still breathing and relatively whole.

"He never showed?" Sam asked. Dean shook his head, his expression grave.

"That was a couple of weeks ago," he explained, "I figured maybe he just got caught up in the hunt, but after I got that message I came straight here."

"So…we're going to Jericho?" I asked. Dean looked at me for the first time since I'd left Sam and Jess's apartment.

"We're going to Jericho," he confirmed.

 


	2. That time I almost gave Dean Winchester a compliment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and the boys make it to Jericho where they learn that there's been another disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> So I told you that I would have this chapter up by next Wednesday, but I decided to post it a little early because why not? Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, but I do own Rose Singer.

**Chapter Two**

I followed the Impala on my Harley, grateful for the cool blasts of wind that kept me alert as the sun slowly began to rise. Nostalgia bubbled up in my throat as I drove. It had been so long since I'd been on a hunting trip. I'd never admit it to Sam, but I'd actually missed this life. My separation from hunting was never meant to be permanent, although I knew that Sam intended his to be. While Sam had studied Law and prepared himself for the normal life he'd always wanted, I'd studied Anthropology, specializing in mythology and folklore. I kept up with my skills, practicing whenever Sam wasn't around.

The sky turned gray, and the highway seemed to never end. My eyes drooped slightly. I knew I should pull over, but I also knew that Dean wouldn't hesitate to leave me behind at the first sign of weakness, so I pushed on. The horizon continued to lighten as dawn approached, and I thanked whoever was listening for the cold air that kept me awake. I could operate for a long time on no sleep, but I was quickly reaching my threshold.

Eventually, Dean pulled the Impala into a tiny gas station in the middle of nowhere and I pulled in beside him, grateful for the chance to rest, even if only for a few minutes. Dean exited the car without a word to me and made his way inside the building. I noticed the sign on the pump that said "Pay Indoors." Groaning, I dismounted. Sam exited the car and gave me a speculating look.

"You're exhausted," he noted. I glared at him.

"Well,  _someone_  woke me up at 4:00 this morning. What did you expect?" I snapped. Sam raised his eyebrows slightly at my harsh tone.

"Are you sure you should be driving like this?" he asked. I waved him away.

"I'm fine," I assured him. Sam frowned slightly. At that moment, Dean came back out carrying an armful of junk food.

"Breakfast?" he offered to Sam. Sam shook his head.

"No thanks," he declined politely. Dean turned to me.

"What about you, Princess? Food?" I eyed the bags in his arms warily. The rumble in my stomach decided for me.

"Hand me that jerky," I ordered. He tossed it at me. I grabbed for the bag, but my fingers fumbled and it slipped to the ground. Sam looked up, fully alert now.

"You need to rest," he said, his jaw set stubbornly. I glared.

"I'm fine," I insisted.

"Rose, you're no use to anyone when you're dead on your feet," Sam argued. I rolled my eyes.

"I missed the catch," I snapped, bending down to grab the jerky, "It happens."

"When was the last time you slept?" Dean interrupted. I turned to him. His face was expressionless, but his eyes held something that might have been concern.

"I  _was_ sleeping when you boys came banging on my door this morning," I growled. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah okay, and how long were you sleeping for?" he demanded. I kept silent. I didn't want to admit that I'd been asleep for less than an hour when they'd arrived. Dean nodded at my silence.

"Thought so," he said.

"Rose, when did you last get a full night's sleep?" Sam asked gently. I opened my mouth to reply, but then stopped. I frowned. I couldn't actually remember the last time I'd slept for more than a couple hours. Had it been last Tuesday?

"Alright, I've heard enough," Dean sighed, "Rose. Get in the Impala. You can sleep for the rest of the way. Sammy, you take the Harley and follow us into Jericho," he ordered. I opened my mouth to protest, but Sam and Dean both glared at me, daring me to argue. I knew I couldn't take both of them. With a huff, I climbed into the Impala, muttering about overprotective brothers. Sam smiled as he caught wind of what I was saying.

As I shut the door, I heard Sam talking to Dean.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old. It's Sam now."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean growled back. I could tell he was no more thrilled about having me in the Impala than I was, which made me wonder why he'd bothered. Jess's voice ran through my mind as she talked about her insane theory. I dismissed that thought quickly. Dean had made it very clear that I was just another pain in his ass.

"How'd you even buy this food?" Sam asked. I closed the door at this, uninterested in hearing Dean brag about his latest credit card scam. I leaned my head against the window, and allowed myself to doze off.

I woke again to find Dean casting anxious glances in my direction as we drove down the California highway. I yawned and stretched the kinks out of my muscles, ignoring Dean's stare.

"Feeling any better?" he asked casually. I shot him a wary look. His face was relaxed and earnest. He wasn't looking for a fight.

"Loads," I admitted. I felt more rested than I had in weeks, "Thanks." Dean shrugged.

"Sammy's right," he explained, "You're no good to anyone sleep deprived." I rolled my eyes. Of course he was thinking about that. Ever the strategist. John trained him well.

"You know he really hates it when you call him that," I remarked. Dean ignored me.

"Are you having nightmares?" he asked. I tensed. Very few people knew about my nightmares, and Sam was the only one who ever brought them up. Dean waited patiently for my reply.

"I always have nightmares," I stated finally, careful to keep emotion out of my voice. Dean frowned slightly.

"I thought they'd gotten better?" he said. I looked away, focusing my attention on the passing landscape.

"Yeah…well, they didn't," I muttered.

"Rosie…could we just—

"Don't call me that," I snapped. Dean frowned.

"I've always called you that," he said.

"Yeah, well you don't get to call me that anymore," I said, "You made it very clear where we stand the last time we saw each other."

"Rosie—Dean paused as I glared at him.

"Rose," he corrected himself reluctantly, "I was…upset then, I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

"Whatever, Dean," I sighed, "I don't feel like rehashing the past. It's done. Let's just concentrate on finding your father and then I can get out of your life again." For a moment, Dean looked as if he might argue, but then he nodded.

"Fine," he agreed, "Why don't you check the glove compartment. There should be numbers to the local hospitals and morgues around Jericho. Call them and see if you can get a hit on Dad's description." I nodded, reaching for the glove compartment. I could handle orders. They were infinitely better than emotions when it came to Dean.

I hung up the phone and looked over at Dean.

"Okay so there's no one matching your father's description in the hospital or morgue," I waited for Dean's reaction. Nothing.

"Dean…this is good news," I prodded. He grunted. As we rounded the corner we came upon a bridge sectioned off by police tape. A group of officers were inspecting a car parked in the middle of the bridge, while another group was trudging through the water below, clearly searching for evidence. Dean pulled over.

"Check it out," Dean mumbled. Without warning he leaned across me and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a box filled with fake IDs. He grabbed one saying Federal Marshall, and began to get out of the car. I reached for the box, but Dean stopped me.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. I frowned.

"I'm looking for a badge, what does it look like?" Dean shook his head.

"No, you're staying here," he said. I felt a growl rise up in my throat.

"Like hell," I snapped, "I can help."

"I don't even have any badges in there for you," Dean argued. I smiled. I reached into my purse and pulled out my own badge.

"Lucky that I do," I said, dangling it in front of his face. He glowered down at me, but said nothing. Finally he slammed the car door shut and waited as I exited the car. As we walked towards the officers I heard him mutter under his breath.

"Bitch," he growled.

"Dick," I chirped back cheerfully. As we approached, I heard one of the officers speaking.

"So this kid, Troy—he's dating your daughter isn't he?"

"Yeah," said another officer.

"How's Amy doing?" asked the first man.

"She's putting up missing posters downtown," sad the second man.

"You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?" asked Dean. I held back a slight smile. I'd always enjoyed watching Dean get information out of people. He had the ability to belong just about anywhere. It came in handy when investigating. The first officer straightened up from where he'd been inspecting the car. He eyed us both suspiciously, but I didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on me just a little bit longer.

"And who are you?" the man asked.

"Federal Marshals," Dean supplied, holding out his badge. The man's eyes narrowed.

"You two are a little young for Marshalls, aren't you?" he asked. This time he blatantly ran his eyes over me. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or smack him. He was cute enough, I suppose, and the fact that he found me attractive could prove useful in the long run.

"That's sweet," I told him, flashing him my best smile. His chest puffed just slightly at the attention, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"You had another one just like this, correct?" Dean pressed, and I thought I caught a hint of annoyance in his voice. The young officer frowned slightly at Dean, but nodded.

"That's right," he agreed, "About a mile up the road. And there have been others before that."

"And you knew him?" I asked, placing just a touch of sympathy into my voice. The man nodded gravely.

"In a town like this one, ma'am, everybody knows everybody. Troy was a nice kid."

"Was there any connection between the victims?" I pressed, "Aside from the fact that they were all men, of course." He shook his head.

"Not so far as we can tell," he admitted. I nodded, taking a step closer.

"So do you men have any theories?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Honestly? We don't know. It could be a serial killer, or a kidnapping ring."

"Well that is just the kind of crack police work I would expect out of you guys," Dean observed harshly. I glared at him, stepping on the inside of his foot to show my displeasure. He hissed and shot me a dirty look, which I ignored. I looked back at the young officer, who was frowning at the two of us, and smiled brightly.

"Well thank you Officer…" The man startled.

"Oh, Brady ma'am," he supplied enthusiastically, offering his hand to shake. I grasped it firmly and gave it a quick shake, keeping up my smile.

"Deborah," I lied. "We'll be in touch." Then I turned and walked away, grabbing Dean by the arm as I did so. When we were further away, Dean elbowed me in the ribs. I glared at him.

"Ow!" I hissed, "What the hell?"

"Why did you have to step on my foot?" Dean demanded angrily. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't be such a baby," I told him, "And anyway, why did  _you_  have to be such a dick? He's only doing his job." Dean snorted.

"Well evidently his  _job_  includes looking down your shirt." I rolled my eyes.

"Don't start with the big brother thing," I told him, "It's not appreciated."

"I'm not being your big brother!" Dean protested, "I just think that maybe he'd get a bit more done if he looked at the evidence instead of your boobs. I mean come  _on!_  They don't really know what they're doing. We're all alone on this. If we're ever gonna find Dad, we have to get to the bottom of this ourselves." We passed a couple of men with FBI jackets on our way back to the Impala. The man leading them looked like he might be the sheriff of Jericho.

"Can I help you folks?" he asked as we passed. I shook my head and smiled at him.

"No sir, we were just leaving," Dean told him. "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully," he greeted the two agents. I held back a chuckle at his reference and shook my head. I didn't say a word as we walked back to the Impala.

As we drove away, I tried hard to ignore Dean's eyes on me. I didn't want to get into an argument, and I knew that was inevitable with him.

"I think Sam is probably downtown, waiting for us. I'll call him," I offered before taking out my phone and pressing the number for Sam's speed dial. The phone rang twice before Sam picked up.

"Where are you guys?" he asked urgently. I could hear the worry in his voice.

"We stopped to question some officers over at the bridge just outside of town," I explained to him, "Apparently there's been another disappearance. Some guy named Troy."

"Yeah, I noticed the missing persons posters around town," Sam noted grimly, "I guess it happened some time last night."

"Yeah one of the officers mentioned that his girlfriend was hanging up posters," I agreed, "We're on our way into town. Where are you?"

"I'm at this internet café downtown," Sam said, "It's called 'The Bean.'"

"Okay, we'll be there soon," I offered.

"Got it," he said, before hanging up. I turned to Dean.

"Sam's at this internet café downtown called 'The Bean,'" I explained, "I told him we'd meet him there." Dean nodded. There was nothing more to say.

"Is he happy?" Dean's voice cut through the silence.

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

"Sam," Dean explained, "Is he happy? At college?" I studied Dean's face carefully. His jaw was tense, and he was avoiding meeting my eyes.

"Yeah," I answered finally, "He loves it there. And he loves Jess." Dean nodded.

"What about you?" Dean asked. I jolted in surprise.

"What about me?"

"Are you happy there?" Dean prodded. I thought about this.

"I have Sam, and Jess," I responded slowly, "And I guess there are worse places to be." I knew there were worse places. I'd been to them.

"But are you happy?" Dean pressed. He met my eyes this time. I'd forgotten how green his eyes could get.

"I don't know," I answered finally. Dean frowned.

"How do you not know?" he demanded, "It's a fairly simple question."

"Is it?" I whispered, "Because it doesn't feel simple." I looked at him, waiting for an answer. The car stopped.

"We're here," he said finally. He was out of the car before I could call him back. I sighed heavily. This was why I didn't like to spend too much time alone with Dean. It was exhausting. I followed him into the café and looked around for Sam. He was sitting in the corner with his computer out. I pushed past Dean and made my way over to him, grinning as I sat down.

"You've no  _idea_  how good it is to see you," I told him. Sam looked up, smiling. He raised an eyebrow as Dean sat down next to me with a grunt.

"You two have fun?" Sam asked, smirking at Dean and I. I huffed. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fun is not the word I would use to describe this morning," Dean answered honestly. Sam looked at me and I shrugged.

"Did you learn anything useful?" Sam asked. I shook my head.

"We learned that the latest victim had a girlfriend," Dean said, "And that cops are idiots." I elbowed him lightly. Dean glared.

"Be nice," I ordered. Dean grunted.

"Anyway, I think the girlfriend should be our next move," Dean told Sam, "If anyone might be able to give us an idea of  _why_ he was taken, she would." I nodded.

"Dean's right," I agreed. Both boys looked at me. Dean looked particularly shocked.

"What?" I demanded.

"You agreed with something I said?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"Oh don't act so shocked," I told him, "You're a dick. It doesn't mean you don't have good ideas every now and then." Dean considered this.

"I think that was  _almost_  a compliment," he muttered incredulously. I rolled my eyes.

"We need to figure out what the connection is between the victims," I explained impatiently, "And the only way we're going to do that is if we dig deeper into the victims' lives. Amy seems like a good start." Sam nodded.

"Okay, so we need to find Amy," he stated firmly.

"But how are we going to do that?" Dean asked, "We don't even know what she looks like."

"It's a small town," Sam said. "It can't be  _that_  hard to track her down." I tuned out of their conversation, and stared blankly out of the window. There was a girl across the street hanging up posters. I straightened in my seat.  _She was hanging up missing posters._

"Guys," I said, getting their attention, "I think I found Amy." Both guys looked at me, confused. I pointed out the window.

"I think that's her," I told them. Dean and Sam both looked out the window.

"Right then, Princess," Dean smiled, "It looks like we'd better get moving." I narrowed my eyes.

"Don't call me princess," I told him as I followed him out of the booth. Sam followed behind us, looking on in amusement. I glared back at him.

"Do you think this is funny?" I asked. Sam smiled.

"Hilarious," he asserted. I rolled my eyes. Boys.

We crossed the street casually and made our way to where the girl, Amy, was hanging up her posters.

"You must be Amy," Dean greeted her. The girl looked up and eyed us suspiciously. She had dark hair and heavy eyeliner. She dressed the way I used to when I was fifteen, in dark colors that probably made old women glare at her when she passed by. A pentagram hung around her neck.

"Yeah," she answered warily. Dean smiled charmingly at her.

"Troy told us about you," he lied cheerfully, "We're his uncles. I'm Dean and this is Sammy." Amy's eye flitted between the two men and then turned to me.

"Who's she?" she asked suspiciously. I felt Sam snake his arm around my waist as he pulled me closer.

"This is my girlfriend, Rose," Sam explained. I leaned into him a little and smiled.

"Hi," I greeted her. Amy just rolled her eyes.

"Troy never mentioned you guys to me," she insisted. Dean laughed.

"Well that's Troy," he waved dismissively, "We're not around much. We're up in Modesto." Amy didn't look entirely convinced.

"We're looking for him, too," Sam jumped in, "and we're kind of asking around." A girl came up to us, eyeing our group uneasily. She turned to Amy.

"Hey, are you okay?" the girl asked. Like Amy, she was sporting the Goth chic look. I recognized the question. It was the same one Jess asked whenever she thought I was uncomfortable with the latest skeeveball hitting on me. Amy turned to her friend and smiled weakly.

"Yeah," she assured the girl. The new girl nodded, but didn't leave.

"Do you mind if we ask you girls a couple of questions?" Sam asked. Both girls shrugged.

"There's a diner down the street," Amy offered, "We could go there to talk." We all voiced our agreement and followed Amy and her friend as they led us into Joe's Diner.

Amy and her friend went straight to a booth in the back, and I had the feeling that this was their usual seat. Both girls slid into one of the booths, while I was forced to squeeze between Sam and Dean, opposite of them. Sam kept his arm around me, keeping up with the illusion of being my boyfriend. I went with it. Sam and I had always been very comfortable around each other, so it didn't seem too awkward when I leaned into his side, although Dean sent us a weird look.

A waitress came and took our drink orders, and then we got straight to business.

"Can you tell us about the night Troy disappeared?" Sam asked. Amy nodded.

"I was on the phone with Troy," she explained. "He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and he never did." Amy closed her eyes, and my heart ached for her. I couldn't imagine what it must be like to never know what happened to your loved one. The girl sitting next to her rubbed Amy's back, her face sympathetic.

"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" Sam asked. Amy shook her head.

"No," she admitted, "Nothing that I could remember." She looked as if she were desperately searching through her memories of that night, looking for something that could help find Troy. I felt Dean shift beside me. He leaned forward on his elbows, his face hard.

"Here's the deal ladies," he said, "the way Troy disappeared—something's not right. So if you've heard anything…" He trailed off, leaving the conversation open. Amy's friend shifted in her seat.

"What?" I asked her, "What is it?" The girl looked away in discomfort.

"Well, it's just—I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk," she smiled apologetically at Amy as she said this.

"What do they talk about?" I looked at Dean and Sam, who had spoken at the same time that I had. I almost wanted to laugh at how 'in sync' we all were. The girl sighed.

"It's kind of this local legend," she explained, "This one girl, she got murdered on Centennial like…decades ago." We all nodded. The girl seemed uncomfortable with all of the attention, especially in front of Amy, who seemed unhappy. "Well supposedly she's still out there," the girl continued. "She hitchhikes. And whoever picks her up—well, they disappear forever." We sat in silence for a moment and the girl blushed.

"Well it's just a story," she mumbled.

"Exactly," Amy said icily, "A story." Amy stood up.

"It was nice meeting you," she muttered before stalking away. The other girl stood hastily, visibly upset.

"I'm sorry," she called to us as she rushed after Amy, calling her name. We sat there for a moment in silence, before Sam slid into the opposite booth. I breathed a sigh of relief at no longer being squished into Dean.

"It sounds like an angry spirit to me," I told them. They nodded.

"We need to be sure though," Sam insisted, "We should stop by the library in town and see if we can dig anything up on this 'hitchhiker.'" I nodded.

"So what are we waiting for then?" Dean demanded. I glanced at him, confused. Dean seemed to be in a bad mood, although I couldn't really tell why. Sam shrugged and hopped up out of the booth. With a flourish he held out a hand to help me up, which I graciously accepted.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. Sam smiled back. Dean grumbled as he followed us out of the diner.

"Do we actually know where the library is?" I asked Sam as we stood outside. Sam nodded.

"I looked it up while you guys were interrogating those cops," he explained. "It's not far. Follow me." He led us onto a different street and into a large building. As we entered the library I breathed in the familiar and comforting smell of books. I felt the tension in my shoulders relax. We wandered through the building until we came across a computer where we could do our research. Dean sat down and immediately pulled up the digital archives for the town's newspaper. Sam and I both took seats beside him, watching as he ran a search.

Dean typed in the words "Female. Murder. Hitchhiking," into the server and waited. The computer beeped as it stated that there were no articles matching the keywords. Dean tried again. "Female. Murder. Centennial Highway." No result.

"Let me try," suggested Sam. Dean waved him off.

"I got it," he muttered. I huffed. Without a word, I rolled Dean's chair away from the computer and took my seat.

"Dude!" Dean protested. "You're such a control freak."

"And you're an idiot," I snapped back. "I study anthropology. Research is what I do." I started typing.

"So angry spirits are born out of a violent death, right?" I asked as I typed.

"Yeah…" Sam and Dean agreed hesitantly.

"So what if…" I mumbled to myself, "It wasn't murder." I typed in my search "Female. Centennial Highway. Suicide." The search brought up one result. I clicked on it. Sam leaned closer to read.

"This was 1981," he read, "Constance Welch, 24 years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge. Drowns in the river."

"Does it say why she does it?" Dean asked. I searched the article.

"Yeah," I answered quietly.

"What?" Dean demanded impatiently.

"She lost her kids," I responded sadly. "It says here that she left them alone in the bathtub for a moment, and when she came back, they weren't breathing. Both drowned."

"'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband, Joseph Welch." Sam read aloud. Dean pointed at the picture on the screen.

"Does that bridge look familiar to you?" he asked me. I nodded. It was the same bridge we'd been on earlier today.

"Looks like we better get a closer look," I noted grimly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed that chapter! The story behind Rose and Dean's complicated relationship is something I'm really looking forward to exploring. Anyway I'm gonna go do writing stuff. If you liked the chapter feel free to leave a review.
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> Lani


	3. Did you really just shoot the ghost in the face? You idiot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Rose, and Sam face off against the ghost they've been hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> I'm back with the next chapter. So far I think I'm doing pretty good about not making you wait too long. :) Anyway here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Three

Night had fallen by the time we made it back to the bridge. In the dark, the old metal structure stood like the skeleton of some ancient beast. My stomach churned looking at the place where Constance Welch had taken her own life, and I hesitated before stepping onto it.

Dean had no hesitation. He swaggered onto the bridge and peered over the edge with a grin.

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive," he noted cheerily.

"Do you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asked, following Dean onto the bridge and waving his flashlight into the dark corners, frowning.

"Well, he's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean shrugged. The smile slid from his face at the reminder of why we were here. I took one cautious step forward, testing the boards beneath me. Once certain that nothing was about to collapse and send me to my own watery grave, I relaxed, looking around for any clues.

"So now what?" I asked, kicking at a pebble. It skittered across the old boards and landed in the water below with a distant  _plop_.

"Now we keep looking until we find him," Dean shrugged absentmindedly, concentrating on his own search, "It might take a while." Sam looked up, his eyes wide.

"Dean, I told you," Sam started, "I have to get back by—

"Monday," Dean cut him off, his smile tense. "Right. The interview."

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

"Yeah, I forgot," Dean admitted, not looking at Sam as he spoke, "You're really serious about this, aren't you?" he asked. I froze, my muscles tensed for a fight.

"You think you're just going to become some lawyer, marry your girl?" Dean continued sarcastically. Sam straightened, his chin jutting out in a way that told me he wasn't backing down from this one.

"Maybe," he declared, a note of defiance in his voice, "Why not?"

Dean scoffed, turning to face Sam head on, shining his flashlight in Sam's eyes as he did so.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you," he demanded, "Does she know about the things you've done?" Sam tensed. I inhaled sharply. Sam took one threatening step toward Dean, his face dark.

"No," he insisted, "and she's not ever going to know."

Dean smiled at the threat in Sam's voice.

"Well that's healthy," he noted, glancing at me. "And how does Rose feel about this? Jess is her friend, too, isn't she?" Both men turned to look at me now. I took a step back, shaking my head and throwing my hands up in surrender.

"Leave me out of this," I ordered. I was  _not_  about to get in the middle of their little battle of wills. Sam paused, his face unsure for a moment. Dean took advantage of his moment of confusion.

"You can pretend all you want, Sammy," he lectured, "But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are." Sam looked up at this, his eyes hard.

"And who is that?" he sneered. Dean held threw his arms out, gesturing at the world around him.

"One of us," he supplied. Sam shook his head, backing away as if he'd been stung.

"No," he protested, "I'm  _not_  like you. This is  _not_  going to be my life." Dean frowned.

"You have a responsibility," Dean pressed.

"To Dad?" Sam shouted, "And his…crusade?" Sam laughed without humor.

"Dean, if it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what mom  _looks_  like," Sam admitted, "And what difference would it make?" I stepped forward, reaching my hand out, but Sam just blundered forward, ignoring my attempts to calm him, "Even if we find the thing that killed her, Mom's dead. And she's not coming back."

Dean moved before I could stop him. In a heartbeat, he had Sam shoved against the railing of the bridge, his hands fisted in Sam's shirt.

"Don't talk about her like that," Dean snarled. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.

"That's enough," I snapped, looking between the two of them. "Both of you need to cool down." I shoved Dean away and turned to Sam.

"That was low and you know it," I hissed at him. Sam had the decency to look ashamed. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Dean didn't give him the chance.

"Sam…" Dean called, "Rose, look." We both turned in time to see what Dean was referring to. A few yards away, a woman dressed in white was standing on the edge of the bridge. Her black hair tangled around her in the wind, and when she looked back, she met my eyes. I felt a chill. Her eyes were impossibly sad. A heartbeat later she stepped off the bridge and into the night. We took off running toward the spot where she'd been. I looked over the railing, searching for any sign of her in the water. Nothing.

"Where'd she go?" Dean asked. I shook my head. Just then, we heard an engine revving. Our heads snapped up to look at a pair of headlights.

"Dean," I whispered nervously, "Who's driving your car?" Dean shook his head and held out the keys. The Impala leapt forward. My heart kicked into overdrive.

"Run!" I yelled. I turned, following my own advice. Dean and Sam followed behind me.

"Go! Go!" Sam shouted. Our feet pounded on the ground as we rushed to get away. I could hear the Impala getting closer, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought I felt the bumper graze the back of my leg. Suddenly, I was yanked to the side and over the railing of the bridge.

I screamed. For a terrifying second I was falling through the air, but then I was yanked up by Sam, who had managed to catch my arm with the one hand that wasn't holding onto the bridge for dear life. With a groan he dragged me up until I could get my own grip on the bridge. I took a moment to catch my breath, before realizing that I couldn't see Dean anywhere.

"Dean!" I shouted, my heart n my throat, "Dean!" I searched the water below for signs of life, dreading the alternative.

"What?" croaked Dean. The breath I'd been holding rushed out of me as I sagged against the rusted beam I was still clinging to. He was alive. I looked down and saw Dean dragging himself onto the beach below, covered in mud.

"Are you alright?" Sam yelled down. Even from this distance, I knew Dean was rolling his eyes. He gave a thumbs up.

"I'm super," he groaned. I laughed. Sam pulled himself back over the rail and then held out a hand to help me up. The knot of tension in my gut eased once my feet touched back on solid ground, and I took a moment to look around. The Impala stood parked a few feet away, totally silent and looking for all the world like she  _hadn't_  just tried to kill us. Dean was scrabbling his way up the bank of the river, cursing as he went. When he finally reached the bridge I ambushed him in a hug. He tensed at the contact, hesitantly patting my back, unsure how to respond. I pulled back and wrinkled my nose.

"You smell like sewage," I told him. Dean huffed.

"Thanks, Princess," he grumbled, but he gave me a slight smile, and I knew he wasn't too offended. Without a word, Dean made his way to the Impala and opened the hood, checking his precious car for any damage.

"Car alright?" Sam called out to him. Dean didn't respond for a moment. He closed the hood and nodded.

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems alright now," he announced, relieved. "That Constance chick—what a BITCH!" he yelled after a moment. I giggled.

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure," Sam remarked, "So where's the trail go from here, genius?"

Dean shrugged. Both boys leaned against the Impala. Sam sniffed and curled his nose.

"You really do smell like a toilet," Sam said finally. I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. Dean frowned at me as I collapsed into a fit of giggles. Sam joined in my laughter. Dean rolled his eyes and pushed off from the Impala.

"Alright you two, yuck it up," he grumbled, "I'm going to go find somewhere to clean off. Either get in or walk." I giggled as I mounted my Harley, which had fortunately escaped possession from angry spirit. Sam and Dean both climbed into the Impala. The car purred to life and I heaved my own sigh of relief. A small part of me had been worried that Constance Welch had killed the engine, despite Dean's assurances that it was fine. My own Harley roared to life without hesitation, and I followed Dean away from Sylvania Bridge.

Dean led us to the first motel off of Centennial. The place looked well kept, or better kept then some of the places we'd stayed in the past, anyway. I heaved a small sigh of relief. With any luck I would be able to avoid some of the horrors that came with living out of cheap motel rooms tonight. Of course, I could easily have gone to a real hotel with my inheritance, but I was hesitant to leave Sam and Dean, and God knew Dean would never accept me paying for a hotel room. He didn't "take charity." I walked into the motel lobby to find Dean already ordering a room. He held out a credit card to the old man at the front desk, and the old man looked at it skeptically, his wrinkled face scrunched as if concentrating on a difficult math problem.

"You guys having a reunion or something?" he asked, ringing the card up and handing it back to Dean with stiff, arthritic hands. I frowned at the question.

"What do you mean?" asked Sam, smiling his usual charming smilt. The old man jerked his head towards the rooms with a grunt.

"That other guy, Bert Aframian," he explained, "He came in and bought out a room for the whole month." Sam and Dean shared a look. I stepped forward.

"Yes sir, we're meeting our uncle here for a little reunion," I smiled at the old man. He grinned back hesitantly, revealing a couple of missing teeth.

"Uncle Bert told us to meet him at this motel, but he forgot to tell us what room he was in," I explained sweetly, "We've tried calling him, but he must've forgotten to charge his cell phone again. He's always doing that. Could you point us toward his room so we can let him know we're here?" The old man squinted hard at me, his eyes suspicious. I kept the smile plastered to my face, willing the man to believe me. Finally, he shrugged.

"He's in room 4C," he grunted. I nodded, beaming.

"Thank you very much," I told him, placing a twenty into the tip drawer. The old man's grin stretched wide across his wrinkled face, exposing more of his missing teeth.

"Thank you," he called as I motioned for Sam and Dean to follow me.

Room 4C turned out to be in the middle of a long row of rooms. I knocked on the door, and waited. No answer. I hadn't really expected one. I leaned down and pulled out the set of picks I kept in my boots and got to work on the lock. A few moments and it opened with a satisfying click.

"I'm surprised you still remember how to do that," Dean remarked casually. I thought I heard a note of pride in his voice.

"What can I say?" I shrugged, nudging the door open with my toe, "It's a useful trick," my voice lowered to a whisper as I stepped inside, tensed for anything. Looking around at the empty room, I motioned for the boys to come in. Sam grabbed Dean by the jacket and pulled him in before shutting the door. We each looked around, taking everything in. The bed in the middle of the room was unmade. Photos and articles covered the walls with notes taped to sheets. I recognized John's handwriting. There was a half-eaten hamburger on the nightstand. Dean picked it up and sniffed, wrinkling his nose as he set it back down gingerly.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least," Dean voiced. Sam knelt down and ran his hands through the white powder that formed a circle around the window.

"Salt, cat's-eye shells," Sam murmured, "He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in…" I suppressed a shiver. Anything that worried John Winchester, worried me. I leaned forward to inspect the articles taped to the wall.

"What do you got there?" Sam asked, noting my interest.

"Centennial Highway victims," I told him, scanning the articles in case John had found some sort of connection.

"I don't get it," Dean admitted as he came to stand by me, studying the articles, "I mean, different men, different jobs, age, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?" I studied the faces of the men who had gone missing. There didn't seem to be anything tying them together…or nothing I could see.

"Dad figured it out," Sam said from the other side of the room. I turned to look at him. He pointed to another article taped to the wall beside him. There was a picture, but I couldn't see it clearly from this distance.

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded. I stepped forward to get a better look at the article Sam was still pointing at. It was the same one from the library.

"He found the same article we did," Sam explained, "Constance Welch. She's a Woman in White." Stepping closer, I saw that the picture that Sam had been looking at was of a weeping woman dressed in a white gown. The dots began to connect in my mind.

"You sly dogs," Dean remarked, turning back to the wall of victims, his smirk not quite reaching his eyes. "Alright, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, then Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it." I frowned, my mind going back to something Constance had said.

"She might have another weakness," I murmured to myself. Dean shook his head.

"No, Dad would want to make sure," he stated, "He'd dig her up. Does it say where she'd buried?" Sam shook his head, still studying the article.

"No, not that I can tell," he admitted, "If I were Dad though, I'd go ask her husband."

"That is, if he's still alive," I muttered darkly. Dean shot me a look.

"Alright, well you two see if you can find an address," he ordered, "I'm going to get cleaned up." He motioned to his soiled clothes, still covered in mud from the river. He turned towards the bathroom.

"Hey Dean," Sam called, stopping Dean in his tracks. Dean turned to Sam, who was fidgeting uncomfortably.

"About what I said earlier about Mom and Dad?" Sam rubbed the back of his neck, frowning, "I'm sorry," he finished. Dean held up a hand to stop him from continuing on his awkward apology.

"No chick-flick moments," he warned, a smile on his face. Sam laughed, dropping his hand and relaxing at the familiarity of this moment. I bit back my own snort.

"Alright," Sam agreed, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean called back. He winked at me before turning and disappearing into the bathroom. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

"Why don't you get some sleep while I look up that address," Sam suggested. I opened one eye.

"You sure?" I asked, "You've gotten about as much sleep as me these two days. I can help." Sam waved my suggestion away with a smile.

"I'll sleep once I find the address," he promised. I nodded and closed my eyes once more.

I woke to sunlight streaming through the window. Sam was asleep on the bed next to me, and Dean was dozing on the couch. I felt a twinge of guilt staring at his long frame crammed onto the small piece of furniture. Dean was always letting Sam and I have the beds, sleeping on whatever surface he could find. I rolled over and looked at the clock. 7:13 AM. I stretched, yawning, and rolled off the bed with a sigh. My stomach rumbled. I'd noticed a diner on the way in last night. The thought of greasy breakfast food made my stomach growl a little louder. I quickly scribbled out a note and placed it on Sam's forehead, making sure he would see it when he got up. I'd learned a long time ago never to go anywhere on a hunt without first at least leaving a note.

I managed to exit the motel room without making a sound, something I was profoundly thankful for. I wasn't in the mood for company this morning. The sun shone bright and clear as I made my way over to my bike. The air had a slight bite, and I pulled my jacket in close around me, grateful that I'd thought to wear layers. I swung onto the bike and roared out of the parking lot without a backwards glance.

The diner was everything I'd hoped it might be. This early in the morning, the only customers were a couple of men getting ready for the morning commute and two kids that I was pretty were still slightly drunk from the night before. One of the waitresses was quick to bring me a cup of steaming fresh coffee, and I flashed her a bright smile in thanks. I loved coffee like I loved oxygen. I was still nursing my first mug when a kind, older woman with a nametag that read Louise approached to take my order.

"I don't suppose it's too early for a slice of pie, is it?" I asked. Louise smiled at me knowingly.

"Honey, it's never too early for pie," she answered kindly.

"Excellent," I grinned, "I'll have a slice of your best pie." Louise laughed and jotted down the order. I sat and sipped my coffee as I waited for my pie. I closed my eyes and leaned against the cool glass of the window. The last diner I was in was freshman year of college. I'd spent half that night in the bathroom, crying, and after that I'd avoided diners like the plague. I'd pretty much avoided everything that reminded me of my time with the Winchesters, except for Sam. I'd managed to get past my distaste for dive bars and muscle cars, but this was the first diner I'd been to since that first night freshman year.

Louise came back with a large slice of pecan pie and a refill for my coffee.

"Bless you," I told her as she refilled my mug. She laughed.

"Honey I get enough kids your age in here to know the routine," she assured me with a wink. I nodded as I sipped my coffee. Louise walked away and I dove into the pie with relish. Pie was another one of those things I'd avoided for the past four years. It tasted as good as I remembered.

I was almost finished with my pie when my cell phone rang. I answered it with a sigh.

"I'm fine," I assured Sam before he could ask.

"That's not why I'm calling," Sam said, "They got Dean." My heart stopped.

"Who?" I choked.

"The police," Sam answered, "They took him in for questioning. I managed to get out before they saw me. Where are you?"

"I'm at the diner down the street," I answered.

"I'll be right there." The line went dead. I bit my nail nervously.

"Everything alright dear?" Louise asked, her brow furrowed as she looked at me. I smiled weakly.

"Everything's fine," I lied. Just then Sam stepped through the doors. I waved him over. Louise smiled hesitantly at me and turned to serve one of her other customers. Sam slid into the booth across from me, his face grim.

"What happened?" I asked. Sam shrugged.

"I guess they figured out you guys weren't Federal Marshals," he offered, "He was going out to look for you when they arrived. They saw him before he could run."

"I left you guys a note," I frowned, "Why was he going out to look for me?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Rose, you left a vague note saying you went out to get food. Did you really think Dean was gonna let that one go?" he asked, exasperated. I opened my mouth. Then stopped to think.

"I thought it would be sufficient," I mumbled sheepishly. Sam groaned.

"Yeah, maybe at Stanford with me and Jess," Sam agreed, "But the difference is that it's Dean, and we're on a hunt. He wanted to be sure." I put my head in my hands.

"He's gonna kill me," I groaned. Dean hated getting picked up by cops. Sam waved it off.

"He'll get over it. Honestly, he has to get out of there first." I frowned.

"What do you mean?" Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Impersonating a police officer is a federal offense," he explained, "And beyond that, they were talking with the old man who runs the place. He definitely showed them where we were staying. They'll have torn that place apart by now." The blood drained from my face.

"That means they saw the wall of victims," I whispered. Sam nodded.

"That and a whole bunch of crap that's gonna look like some kind of Satan worship from and outside perspective," he added, "He's probably on the top of their list of suspects." I shook my head.

"That's not right," I protested, "Dean would've been barely out of diapers when the first guy went missing."

"They'll probably think he was working with someone, an older guy," Sam explained.

"Shit," I moaned, putting my head in my hands, "How the hell are we gonna get him out of this?"

"Yeah, I'm still working on that bit," Sam admitted, scratching his head awkwardly, "in the meantime, I think it'd be a good idea if we went ahead and checked out the address I found for Joseph Welch." I straightened.

"So you found it?" I asked. Sam smiled.

"Yeah, not long after you conked out last night, actually," he teased. I smacked his arm, smiling.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I demanded, "Let's go!" I slammed down the money for the bill and waved at Louise before dragging Sam out of the diner.

"We'll take the Impala," I told him, "I think it'll look better if we show up in the same vehicle." Sam laughed.

"You are  _way_  too excited about this," he joked. I shrugged.

"It's been awhile since I've gotten the chance to test my interrogation skills," I admitted, "And I've never gotten the chance without your father or Dean breathing down my neck." Sam nodded, wisely choosing to stay silent. He drove us through town, taking us to the edge of Jericho where apparently Joseph Welch had moved shortly after the deaths of his family. We pulled into what amounted to a junkyard, reminding me fondly of home, and Sam pulled to a stop.

"If he asks, we're reporters from the Post," he explained. I nodded. I followed Sam up to the door, and we knocked. A moment later, the door opened to reveal an older man, his face lined with sorrow. He looked us up and down with narrow eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice scratchy. I caught a whiff of whiskey on his breath.

"Are you Joseph Welch?" I asked. He nodded curtly. Sam smiled.

"Great," Sam sighed, relieved, "We wanted to ask you a few questions if that's alright with you. I'm Sam, and this is Rose." Mr. Welch frowned.

"Ain't I answered enough questions?" he complained, "A man came just the other day to ask me to answer  _his_  questions." Sam and I glanced at each other. Sam reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled old photograph of John when Sam and Dean were kids. They were grinning together at the camera.

"Was this the man, asking you questions?" Sam asked. Joseph Welch studied the picture carefully before nodding.

"Yeah," he answered, "Yeah he was older, but that's him. He came by three or four days ago saying he was a reporter." Sam nodded.

"That's right," he agreed, "We're working on a story together." Mr. Welch shook his head.

"Well I don't know what the hell kind of story you're working on," he grumbled, "the questions he asked me."

"About your late wife?" I asked. Mr. Welch fixed his glassy eyes on me. I felt a small sting of sympathy.

"He asked me where she was buried," he explained, his voice catching on the final word. Sam flipped open the notebook he'd brought with him and held his pen to paper, prepared to take notes.

"And where was that again?" he prodded. Mr. Welch shot Sam a suspicious glare.

"What, I got to go through this twice?" he demanded, his voice wavering slightly.

"It's fact checking," I explained to him, "If you don't mind." Mr. Welch pursed his lips, clearly unhappy with the line of questioning.

"In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge," he answered finally. I saw Sam jot down the information.

"Why did you move?" Sam asked. Mr. Welch looked at him like he was stupid.

"I'm not going to live in the place where my children died," he snapped. I nodded. Something in the back of my mind tickled at his words.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever remarry?" I asked, wanting to keep him talking in case it helped me to sort out my thoughts. Mr. Welch shook his head emphatically.

"No way," he insisted, "Constance—she was the love of my life," his voice trailed off as his eyes grew distant, "Prettiest woman I ever known." A twist of anger burned through my sympathy.

"So you had a happy marriage?" I pressed. Mr. Welch hesitated.

"Definitely," he responded, looking away. Sam, sensing my ire, began to shift me toward the Impala.

"Well, that should do it," he spoke quickly, gently grabbing my elbow to steer me away. "Thanks for your time," he called out over his shoulder. We were almost at the Impala when I pulled away and turned back to Mr. Welch.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a Woman in White?" I demanded. Mr. Welch frowned.

"A what?" he asked.

"A woman in white," I repeated, "also known as a weeping woman?" Mr. Welch's face stayed blank. "It's a ghost story…well, more of a phenomenon," I explained to him coolly, "They've been spotted all over the world: Hawaii, Mexico, more recently in Arizona and Indiana. All of these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story." Mr. Welch crossed his arms impatiently.

"Girl, I don't much care for nonsense," he warned. I ignored him, taking a step forward.

"You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them," Mr. Welch's eyes widened slightly, "and these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children." I paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction, "Then, once they realized what they'd done, they took their own lives. So now, their spirits are cursed, walking back roads and waterways, and if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him, and that man is never seen again." I kept contact with Joseph Welch's glassy eyes as my words processed. He took one threatening step forward. The glass fell away from his eyes for a moment, revealing a deep pit of guilt mixed with swirling rage.

"You think…you think that has something to do with Constance?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly, "You  _bitch_!" Sam stepped between Mr. Welch and I, his body tensed for a fight.

"You tell us," he said. Mr. Welch shook his head. For a second, his rage fell away to reveal a haunted, hollow look.

"I mean, maybe—maybe I made some mistakes," he admitted, "But no matter what I did, Constance never would've killed her own children." He shook his head finally, taking another step toward us, "Now you get the hell out of here," he spat, "and you don't come back." Sam nodded tersely and dragged me away. He nudged me toward the passenger seat as he hurriedly climbed in on the driver side. I slid into the seat and slammed the door. Sam wasted no time in shifting us into gear. I watched Joseph Welch fade away in the rear-view mirror in silence.

"Did anyone ever tell you you've got a way with people?" Sam remarked sarcastically. I shrugged.

"The man was a dick," I stated coolly, "It's his fault his wife is trapped as some violent spirit, killing men."

"You could've been a little gentler," Sam insisted, "The man  _did_ lose his wife and kids on the same day." I sighed, closing my eyes. The guilt began to sink in now that my anger was receding.

"Sorry," I whispered, rubbing my temples, "I guess I just lost my temper." Sam said nothing, nodding his understanding.

"So, what now?" he asked as we sped down the highway. I bit my lip in thought.

"We need to get Dean out of jail," I told him, "And we need to burn Constance's body."

"Okay… what's the plan to get Dean out?" he asked. I smiled.

"Do you think Dean can still pick the locks on handcuffs?" I asked him. Sam grinned.

"In his sleep," he answered. My smile stretched wider, triumphant.

"Excellent," I smirked, "Then drop me off at the diner where my bike is," I instructed, "You go find Constance's body. I'll get Dean out." Sam studied me nervously, but eventually nodded. He pulled the Impala into the diner parking lot and I hopped out.

"I'll call you once I have Dean," assured him. Sam smiled.

"Great," he joked, "I guess I'll just go desecrate some remains all on my own then." I laughed.

"Better you than me," I teased. Sam shot me the bird before driving off and I quickly grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency?" asked the calm, collected voice of a strange woman on the other line.

"Please," I sobbed, "Please can you send someone over to Mel's Diner? There are men with guns," I whimpered into the phone, giving my best impression of terrified, "They're shooting at people."

"We'll send someone over right away," the woman on the other line said, "In the mean time, stay down and keep hidden. Stay on the line."

"Okay," I agreed, before dropping the phone. I stepped on it with the heel of my boot, crushing it. I stared mournfully at its shattered remains. I'd liked that phone. As soon as the phone was crushed I turned and mounted my bike. I roared out of the parking lot and made my way to the local police station where I guessed they'd been keeping Dean. There was a phone booth not too far from the station and I leaned against it as I watched all the cops scurry to make it to the diner. Soon the station seemed deserted. I waited a little longer.

Dean came rushing out of the building a few minutes later, heading directly toward me. He caught a glimpse of me and smiled.

" _You_  made that phony 911 call?" he asked. I smirked.

"Someone had to get you out, didn't they?" I teased. He laughed.

"Well color me impressed," he admitted, "You know that's pretty illegal, right?" I shrugged.

"I've done worse," I said, my tone darker than I had intended. Dean's smirk slid away for a moment, and I avoided meeting his eyes.

"Where's Sammy?" he asked finally. I kicked off of the telephone booth and stepped inside, grabbing for the payphone and feeding it some quarters.

"He went to go burn Constance Welch's remains," I explained, dialing the familiar number, "I'm supposed to call him once you're out, then we'll go and meet him." Sam picked up on the first ring.

"Is he out?" he asked.

"He's out," I answered. Sam sighed in relief. Dean held out his hand for the phone, and I reluctantly relinquished the receiver.

"Sammy, listed we need to talk," Dean insisted, his expression grave. There was a pause and Dean rolled his eyes at whatever Sam said.

"Listen Sam, would you shut up for a minute?" Dean snapped. I couldn't hear what Sam said, but Dean pinched his nose in frustration.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you about," Dean growled, "He's gone. Dad left Jericho." I straightened at this news. I glared at Dean, smacking his arm. Dean glared at me, cradling his arm with one hand as the other held the phone to his ear.

"I've got his journal," Dean explained, holding up a beaten leather-bound journal in his hands. I frowned.

"He never goes anywhere without that thing," I said. Dean glared.

"Yeah, well he did this time," he snarled. I frowned. Sam must've said something on the other end, because Dean turned his attention back to the phone.

"Same old ex-Marine crap. When he wants to let us know where he's going." I grabbed the journal out of Dean's hands and started flipping through. I landed on a page with Dean's name scribbled on the page, followed by a string of numbers. Coordinates.

"I'm not sure yet," Dean answered another question from Sam. I traced the coordinates with my fingers. I needed a map. Now.

"Sam?" I looked up at Dean's tone. "Sam!" Dean threw the phone against the wall of the booth with a yell

"Dean!" I snapped, trying to get his attention, "What's going on?"

"Sam's phone cut out," he ground out, "I'm betting that bitch got to him." I nodded.

"She knows we're on to her," I agreed, "We need to get over to the old Welch home. Now. Come on." I gestured for Dean to follow me as I led him to my bike. I got on and patted the seat behind me. Dean froze.

"Hell no," he said, shaking his head, "You are  _not_  driving." I rolled my eyes.

"Get over yourself, Dean," I ordered, "I'm not letting you drive my bike."

"Well I'm not getting on the back," Dean insisted stubbornly. I huffed impatiently.

"We don't have time for this," I reminded him. Dean grumbled as he climbed on behind me and tentatively placed his hands on my waist. I shifted slightly in my seat, aware of the warmth from his hands bleeding through my shirt, and grateful that Dean couldn't see my face. I twisted the throttle and took off toward the old Welsh house.

We sped through the streets, breaking every traffic law as I rushed to get to where Sam was. My heart was pounding in my chest.  _Sam. Sam. Sam._ It beat.  _Sam. Sam. Sam._

The sky had started to darken, and when we arrived the first stars were starting to show. The Impala was parked in front an old decrepit house. I could see the shadows of Sam struggling through the windows. Dean didn't even wait for me to cut the engine before he was running toward the car, toward Sam. I rushed to dismount and follow him. Dean pulled out a gun and started to shoot through the windows. I reached the Impala and saw that she had pushed Sam over and that Sam was struggling to get away.

"SAM!" I screamed, desperate to get his attention. "SAM! GET HER IN THE HOUSE!" Sam looked up at me, and I pointed to the house. He surged up to grab the keys and turn on the car. The gunshots had bought him a little bit of time.

Sam muttered something to himself as he floored the pedal and the Impala shot off toward the house, crashing through the rotted wooden boards with ease. There was an awful noise and then silence. Dean and I shared a panicked look before taking off toward the house.

"Sam!" I yelled as I picked through the broken boards and debris, "Sam are you okay?"

"Sammy!" Dean called out, "Sammy talk to us!" I heard a groan, and the door to the Impala creaked open. Sam stumbled out. I rushed over to him, helping him up.

"You okay?" I asked him, running my eyes over his body to make sure there was nothing broken or bleeding. Dean watched us, his face blank. Sam nodded, waving me off as he stood.

"I think so," he said. He stumbled again.

"Can you move?" I asked, hovering over him nervously. He nodded.

"Yeah, just…help me up." I pulled him up once more and this time he stayed standing. I looked him over once more, double-checking for injuries. Apart from the cut on his forehead, which wasn't bleeding hard enough to worry me, he seemed fine. I smiled at him weakly. He smiled back.

"You had a plan?" he asked. I opened my mouth to explain the theory that I'd been turning around in my mind, but before I could, I was shoved into the side of the Impala. When I looked up, Dean and Sam were trapped against a wall, a large table holding them in place as they struggled to break free. My back ached from the force of whatever had shoved me into the car. I pushed myself slowly from the car, but a second table flew at me, and I was shoved back once more. I groaned as the wind rushed from my lungs. That would probably bruise. I looked up to see Constance Welch, dark hair tangled around her like ink against her pale skin and ragged white dress. She looked at me, her eyes glowing. I tried to push the table off of me, but it didn't budge. Constance took a step forward, then stopped. She looked up toward the stairs. I followed her gaze.

Water had begun to flow down the stairs. I watched as a light appeared at the top of the stairs, revealing two children: a little girl and a boy. They couldn't have been more than eight years old. Their hair and clothes were plastered to their skinny bodies, dripping onto the wood floors. Constance walked towards them. The table she'd held against me fell away. I pushed myself off from the Impala and stumbled over to where Dean and Sam were. Their confines had released as well, and they stood with me, their eyes fixed on Constance and her two children.

"You've come home to us, Mommy," the children said together. I shivered at their high voices. They stepped forward and enveloped the woman in a weird, creepy hug. Constance screamed. I watched as she and her children flickered in and out of existence. Constance scream echoed through the house. The sound was horrible, but her children did not let go. Finally, they disappeared completely, and all was silent. We stared in shock at the space where they had been. Finally, Dean took a step forward and leaned down to inspect the spot where the ghosts had disappeared. There was only a puddle of water left over to show they had ever been there.

"So this is where she drowned her kids," Dean observed. I nodded, stepping forward.

"That's why she could never go home," I explained, "She couldn't face them after what she did." Dean shot me a look, and I quickly turned toward Sam.

"We found her weak spot," I grinned.

"Yeah, nice work Sammy," Dean muttered as he turned to go inspect his precious car. Sam rolled his eyes.

"It was Rose's idea," he pointed out, "By the way, what were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?"

"Hey, it saved your ass," Dean defended himself absentmindedly, running his hands over the Impala, inspecting for damage.

"I'll tell you another thing," he turned back to look at Sam, face grave, "If you screwed up my car, I'll kill you." Sam laughed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways I hoped you enjoyed that! I realize that so far I'm sticking pretty close to the series, but I promise that'll change soon. I'll be introducing Rose's personal plot fairly soon. Anyway, let me know what you think! Review if you liked this chapter. I'll see you guys next time. :)
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> Lani

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter. I'm going to post the next chapter by next Wednesday, but probably sooner since I'm excited. I've already got the first five chapters written so things will be pretty regular for awhile. I'm hoping to get the next few chapters finished by the end of the week so that I can stay ahead. Also, yes I plan on including Cas later on in the story, but it's going to follow pretty closely to the show, so that won't be for awhile yet. What do you guys think of Rose? I love her relationship with Jess. I'll see you guys next time in Jericho...
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated! ;)
> 
> xoxo
> 
> Lani


End file.
